Letting go

Nobody was surprised, because he’d been telling us all week that was going to happen.

“How do you know?” I asked him.

“I just know,” he said. “Nobody lives forever. And I’ve had a wonderful life. If I don’t wake up tomorrow morning, it’s OK.”

So, that right there is one thing I’d like you to know about my dad. He always told us the truth. He was kind and compassionate but always truthful.

He grew up on the Lower East Side of New York, in poverty. As a kid, he loved to read and play stick ball. He loved Coney Island and Babe Ruth. His dad died when he was just a kid, so he looked up to my Uncle Al, his much older brother, as a second father.

He wanted to be an artist, but he got drafted into the Army and World War II. When he met my mom at a political meeting after the war, he asked her out for coffee. Within six weeks, they were married in a civil ceremony at City Hall. Then, they went to eat Danish food.

They moved to Houston, the land of opportunity, in 1955. And, Dad struck it lucky when he landed a job at Baylor College of Medicine. He helped some of the best doctors in the world make medical machinery and medical history with artificial hearts and heart-lung and blood salvage machines.

When Dad started at Baylor, he was a college drop-out, but he went back to college, this time at the University of Houston, when I was in the second grade. It took him 10 years to graduate because it was so tough to work during the day and go to classes at night.

Sometimes he had to drop classes because the schedule was just too hard. Sometimes he fumed at professors who didn’t know that there were multiple answers to complicated problems. Sometimes he just made mistakes, which he shared with us. We had the rare dad who truly understood our trials and tribulations in school.

My dad used to tell us how lucky he was to have a job he cared passionately about and that he wanted us to have the same passion for our careers. But when he retired, he loved retirement, too.

He got to paint again. He got to spend time with his wife, children and grandchildren. He had five grands, and he loved each one for his or her own particular strengths and weaknesses.

I’ll stop yakking now, but there are just a lot, lot, lot of lessons to learn from Dad.

28 Responses

Claudia – I’m so sorry for your loss. But at the same time I think it’s absolutely awesome that your Dad lived such a long and fulfilled life. I know that the next few weeks and months are going to hard trying to adjust to life without your Dad but hold tight to the many lessons he taught – they will pull you through. Give your Mom a hug for me – and one for yourself too!

Sorry you lost your father. He sounds like a wonderful person and had a full and rich life. One thing I’ve learned as I age (61), it’s harder to let go than it is to go sometimes. Hugs to you and your family.

“Dad struck it lucky when he landed a job at Baylor College of Medicine. He helped some of the best doctors in the world make medical machinery and medical history with artificial hearts and heart-lung and blood salvage machines.”
What was his occupation that made him eligible to become involved in Baylor? What did he do for a living before and after military?

He started off as a relatively unskilled machinist in Baylor’s surgery machine shop, and over the years, he was promoted to head of the machine shop. Also, he went back to school and studied engineering and physics. He graduated from college and I graduated from high school at exactly the same time. What really helped him, though, was on the job training, a love of learning and creativity. He was an inventor and problem-solver.
But to answer your question, before and after the military he tried to make it as an artist. Then he met my mom, married and realized he needed a more practical occupation.

I was very sad to read this today. I didn’t know your dad, but I enjoyed reading about him here on your blog. I’ve always appreciated people who tell the unvarnished truth, no matter what. Sounds like he was blessed with a long and wonderful life. And in turn, you all were blessed to have him. My prayers and condolences go out to you and your whole family, especially your mom.

Claudia I am so sorry to hear about your Dad. You always shared wonderful stories of him. Now I am sure he is in Heaven sharing wonderful stories about his family to God and the Angels. My prayers are with you and your family.

I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing the small insight into your father’s wonderful life, it was wonderful to read and your feelings of love and respect are evident. I lost my own father 11 years ago and having great memories to relive over and over again helps to ease the pain.

“He always told us the truth. He was kind and compassionate but always truthful.”

What a wonderful legacy. My kids will say I was always truthful. I hope my kids look back and think of me as kind and compassionate as well. Thank you for letting us know something about your wonderful father.

Claudia, what a lovely tribute to your dad. And how sweet you are to share your dad’s story with all of us. It sounds like, indeed, that he had a wonderful life, and because of his wonderful and talented daughter, his life will live on….in your words and in your family. I’m sorry for your loss….hugs to you and your mom.

Claudia, so sorry to hear of your dad’s passing. I lost my dad last year at the age of 90. The last few years of his life, he used to say “I’ve had a good life.” He never lost his zest for living and wanted to make it to 100.
He was a blessing to our family, as I know your dad was. My deepest sympathy to you and to your family.

So sorry to hear about your father….. my heart goes out to you and your family. I have really enjoyed your stories about him. I am sure that he is in heaven and watching over all of you. Please give your mother a hug from all of us who read your blog and please know that there are many many people out here praying for all of you.

Claudia, I’m so sorry to hear about your dad. You’ve talked so much about him but I never picked up that he was a machinist. There’s no such thing as a “relatively unskilled” machinist, especially in a med-tools shop. I’m not bad at using a drill press, belt sander and grinding wheel to make a tool fit the job but when you talk about medical tools you mean being able to tell at a glace that you are 1/ 128th of an inch off. That is such an amazing gift and he liked to read as well? What a guy!

Claudia, you had an exceptional Father in every aspect. He was passionate, brillant, kind, and so very thoughtful. One that was totally without prejudice and so very loving. Both your Father and Mother are one of a kind! You were fortunate to call him your Dad and yes he indeed will be missed but he taught so many. His memory and remarkable talents will always be with all of us. My deepest sympathy go to you, your Mom, brother and sister, your spouses and all of his devoted grandchildren!